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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27181759">(Not) Alone at a Drive-In</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meilan_Firaga/pseuds/Meilan_Firaga'>Meilan_Firaga</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Road Trips</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 03:02:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,574</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27181759</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meilan_Firaga/pseuds/Meilan_Firaga</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Battle of New York, Steve takes a chance to take a look at what became of the country he went into the ice for. An unexpected visitor when he stops for a novelty kind of night in New Mexico helps give his perspective on life after the ice a much-needed shift.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Fic In A Box</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>(Not) Alone at a Drive-In</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/flipflop_diva/gifts">flipflop_diva</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The Avengers success in the Battle of New York gave Steve Rogers a sense of purpose he’d never thought he would find again after he woke up seventy years in the future. It could have been the product of exhaustion, but the night after the battle—his belly full of shawarma and his body wrapped in soft cotton sheets in a spare bedroom Stark swore was getting remodeled immediately—he slept more soundly than he had since he’d come out of the ice. It didn’t matter that the city was a mess, that his worldview was shaken once more, or that he’d have to get up in the morning and make sure a pair of Norse gods made it off-world without causing any more damage. There was security in knowing that there were still battles he could fight, still good things he could do.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But that didn’t mean he wasn’t ready to take some time and get away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stark gave him the motorcycle. As much as Steve was uncomfortable with the thought of such a lavish gift, he’d let himself be convinced of the sense in it. If he’d gone through the process of purchase the normal way he’d have to go hunting for what he wanted across who knew how many sale lots in the New York area. Not to mention the paperwork of getting it titled and tagged. It was much simpler to pick the bike he wanted from the gleaming row of them in Tony’s private garage beneath the tower, sign a few forms, and let the other man push the paperwork through the proper channels so the government knew the vehicle had changed hands. Tony was even more talented than his father had been at making money talk.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t pack much in the saddlebags. A few changes of clothes, first aid kit, road map, and a handful of tools for minor maintenance on the bike. A cellular telephone he wasn’t very familiar with that Stark insisted was top of the line. A manual for the phone that Miss Potts had been kind enough to slip him when Tony wasn’t looking. A sidearm that he’d grudgingly agreed to take when Fury found out he was temporarily leaving the shield in Stark’s care. He had money if he found himself missing something, and he didn’t want luggage to weigh him down. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As soon as Thor took Loki and the Tesseract back to Asgard, Steve let himself get lost on America’s roads. He headed south out of New York, keeping off the major highways in favor of rural routes. The winding two-lane roads were more like the ones he remembered from his time than the busier thoroughfares with their wide medians and exit ramps spaced miles apart. He made his stops in small towns with roadside motels and family-owned service stations. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A kind woman in a Pennsylvania diner showed him how to use the GPS mapping application on his phone when his road map turned out to be just outdated enough to start giving him problems. Later, when he blew a flat on a mountainous Virginia road the mechanic who came to his rescue helped him find websites that talked about the prettiest motorcycle rides in the country. He sheltered under overpasses in the rain and found a viewing spot to watch the sunset every night. He rode the Dragon along the Tennessee-North Carolina border and wound his way across the American south, thrilled to finally see more of the country he fought so hard for than he’d ever had the opportunity to see before. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stopped at another diner early one morning just across the border between Texas and New Mexico. The place was empty but for a couple of teenagers that were probably both going to be grounded for staying out well past their curfews, a cook that practically lived at the joint, and a long-suffering waitress that still managed to greet him with a smile. It didn’t take much to convince her to sit and talk with him while they waited for the cook to whip up his usual massiver order of food, and she regaled him with stories of her life. Somewhere in the midst of it all she told him about the proper drive-in dates of her teenage years. When Steve confessed that he’d never been to a drive-in she insisted on giving him directions to a theater off a rural route two towns over. She swore up, down, and sideways that their retro double feature would be an experience that would change his life. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That was how Steve Rogers found himself driving a rented vintage convertible up beside a pole on the dusty grounds of the Desert View Drive-In. The sun wasn’t quite set, and the lot was just barely half full. There was a line of cars trailing down the country road from the box office just beyond the surrounding fences. From the looks of things it was going to be a full house. He checked his distance from the post and set the parking brake before turning off the key. He’d parked just behind and to one side of the building that housed bathrooms and a concession stand, and his stomach was already growling at the scent of buttery popcorn wafting on the breeze. He didn’t bother to lock the doors—it was a useless measure when the top was down anyway. There were a few people in line, but it wasn’t any bother for him to be patient. The entire staff got wide eyes at the amount of food he lined up in one of their disposable cardboard trays. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Concessions had come a long way since the picture shows of his day. He got the largest tub of popcorn they had, a soda that was so big it was probably going to keep him awake until dawn, a basket of french fries, and four corn dogs. One of the teenagers behind the counter even told him that they could cook a pizza and bring it out to his car, which he absolutely would have taken them up on if it weren’t for the suspicious looks he was starting to get from those queueing up behind him as the movie crowd started to grow. With his sunglasses hooked into the collar of his shirt he was pretty sure the ball cap on his head wasn’t doing a whole lot to shield his identity. Those videos from New York had caught his face once or twice. So, he paid for the food he’d already accumulated and started a plan to sneak back during the picture when the line had gone down a bit. With careful balance he side-stepped around the other patrons and made his way back out to the convertible.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The convertible that now boasted one red-headed Russian spy sitting in the passenger seat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Agent Romanov,” he greeted with a nod as he rounded the hood. Her feet were propped up beneath the windshield. There were traces of dirt already gathering beneath the heels of her bright green sneakers. “It’s a rental. Feet off the dash.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How in the hell did you find a place with fifties convertibles for rent in the middle of nowhere, Rogers?” she quipped as she settled her feet properly on the floorboard. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He leaned over the driver’s side to drop his tray of food on the middle of the bench seat before opening the door to sit down. “I made friends with the owner.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You talked a private owner into renting out their beautifully restored Skyliner to a man they’d just met?” She sounded impressed. She also stole one of his fries. “You could be great at S.H.I.E.L.D. with those kinds of skills.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Says the woman that apparently walked into a drive-in.” Sensing that more fries were about to go missing, he pulled the tray over onto his lap. It probably wasn’t going to stop her, but it was the best defense he had under the circumstances.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Natasha pouted at the loss of the fries but inclined her head toward a family setting up lawn chairs and a picnic blanket in front of a minivan. “I told them I was late to meet my boyfriend and he’d already had to drive inside. They’re very sweet.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Boyfriend, huh?” Steve popped a handful of popcorn into his mouth while he considered that little lie. He was sure the spy had been very convincing, and he was even more sure that no one had ever tried to convince folks that he was their boyfriend before. He knew it was nothing purposeful, just a means to an end, but he couldn’t help the little flutter of warmth in his chest all the same. It made him feel like such a sap. “Can’t say I’ve seen that one used before.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not usually a favorite.” Smirking, she gave him an appraising look. “First time I haven’t wanted to complain about who I was pretending to be dating, though.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In spite of himself, Steve felt his cheeks heat. “Why are you here, Romanov?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not for S.H.I.E.L.D. if that’s what you’re thinking,” she insisted. She trained her gaze away from him, seemingly staring at some of the other cars. She chewed at her bottom lip for a moment then shrugged. “Clint has other obligations after a big mission, Banner doesn’t exactly appreciate my presence, and Stark would rather chew his arm off than keep me around.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve blinked a few times, processing those words. “You’re lonely?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“In a manner of speaking.” She swallowed. “I just… I wanted to be around someone who understands.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Instead of a verbal response, Steve slid the tray of snacks back into the middle of the bench seat, tapping it gently against her hip. She smiled down at it, stole another fry, and relaxed a bit more. They snacked in companionable silence as the sun crept steadily toward the horizon. All around them the drive-in filled with all manner of people. They watched families with enthusiastic children shout reminders to stay out of the way of cars. Some actual couples were scattered throughout the space, passing secret smiles while they tried to keep their hands to themselves before night settled in. Drive-in workers in bright orange vests crossed the lot to direct people to reserved spots or deliver pizzas to cars with lighted beacons attached to their hoods as they came out of the oven. The light drifting over the drive-in faded to a dusky orange glow and then darkened further. Finally, the projector atop the concession building whirred to life. The first clip was variations of a flag waving at the top of a pole.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you stand up for the National Anthem I’ll snap a picture for Tony and you’ll never live it down,” Natasha teased just as the song began to play. Steve didn’t stand and she didn’t take the promised picture, but he did notice that she was uncharacteristically demure until the last chords finished. As the previews began she boosted herself over the top of the passenger door, leaned against it with her chin in her hands, and gave him a winning smile. “You’re not going to complain if I bring more snacks, right?” she asked, lifting an eyebrow at the damage the two of them had already done to his snack purchases.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A friend of mine used to say I couldn’t afford to turn down a pretty dame if she wants to buy me dinner.” He wasn’t entirely sure where the teasing tone in his voice had come from—probably the ghost of Bucky possessing him from beyond the grave—but he figured he couldn’t have said something wrong when all she did was laugh before heading off to the concession stand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The line had dissipated with the first movie about to start, and it didn’t take very long at all before Romanov was sauntering back to the car. The tray she balanced against one hip was loaded with even more food than his had been when he found her in his car. She had a drink carrier in her other hand with three cups in it and one of the lighted pizza beacons dangling from her fingertips. In a series of maneuvers that could have convinced him she was a career waitress she passed the the heavily-laden tray over the edge of the car to his waiting hands, hooked the beacon on the passenger side mirror, and got herself and the drinks back over the door so she could settle into her seat. Steve stared down at the massive amount of food while she got herself settled, his eyes widening at the spread of hot dogs, fries, nachos, wrapped sandwiches, and sundry sorts of candy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jesus, Romanov. Did you leave any food for the rest of the patrons?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She snorted at him while she sipped from one of the drinks in the carrier. “Oh, please. We both know you didn’t get enough to satiate that super appetite the last time.” She wriggled one of the drinks free of the carrier and passed it over to him. It had a bubble of plastic for a lid. The frozen contents were a neon shade of blue. “Blue raspberry Icee. I figured they probably didn’t have those the last time you went to a movie.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I haven’t been living under a rock since S.H.I.E.L.D. thawed me out, you know.” He couldn’t look at her while he said it, sheepish that it needed to be said at all. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure you haven’t, Rogers.” She balanced her own Icee and soda in one hand while she wiggled her feet out of her sneakers and returned them to the dash without the looming threat of dirt. “We’re sharing, but don’t eat all my gummy worms.” She helped herself to a handful of his popcorn. “Now hush up. The movie’s starting.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The first movie was just light-hearted enough. They laughed together, passing the tub of popcorn back and forth while animated figures danced across the screen. A teenager in an orange vest delivered their pizza—a three-meat monstrosity that he ate most of while Natasha nibbled her way through two slices. For a little while, Steve forgot that he was a man out of time. For a little while he was just a guy having a night out with a pretty girl. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When the credits rolled they gathered their mounds of trash and carried it off to the bins by the concession building. They took turns between who went to the restroom and who sat with the car with the engine running, letting the battery get a little charge while the intermission between movies played out. A lot of the families with young children packed up their cars and drove out of the lot. The second feature was a horror film, and Steve guessed they probably didn’t want to scare the kids. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They were both quieter as the movie began. It was a slow building film with more quiet moments than raucous action, and it wasn’t holding Steve’s attention the way the first movie had. Instead, he found his thoughts and his gaze frequently drawn to his companion. Natasha was as unflappable as she’d been in the face of an alien invasion, though she seemed almost absent-minded in the way she reached for her remaining drink here and there. The more he looked the more he could see that her gaze was unfocused, her mind clearly far away. He didn’t think she was in the habit of letting people catch her at wool-gathering, so he stretched his arm across the back of the bench seat and nudged her shoulder with the tips of his fingers. She didn’t start—her training was too well-ingrained—but she turned her gaze to him with a question in her eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You wanna talk about it?” The question was out of his mouth before he realized he was going to ask.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Natasha’s eyes dropped away from his face as she tugged her bottom lip between her teeth. She snagged her fingers in a length of chain around her neck, toying with the arrow charm at its center. After a long moment she spoke. “Do you think a person can ever do enough good to make up for a lifetime of bad?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It hit like a punch to the gut, that question from someone like her. He didn’t have the technology or the clearance level to know all the details of what she’d done, but Stark had told him enough. He knew that she was the result of a Russian murder boot camp. He knew that Barton’s initial orders had been to take her out. He knew that she was dangerous in a very different way than the women he’d been used to back in the war. Somehow it hadn’t occurred to him that she would be so filled with guilt. In hindsight, he was a fool not to think of it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think you do what you can,” he said quietly. “We do bad things, we do good things. It’s not for us to decide if the scales balance. We just have to keep trying to be on the good side of it all.” He let his hand fall from the back of the seat to her shoulder, squeezing gently. “You don’t do those bad things anymore, Romanov. You’re one of the good guys now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Am I?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If not for his enhanced hearing he might not have heard it at all, that tiny plea for validation. In response he slid across the wide front seat of the convertible and gathered her in against his chest. When she started to cry it was small, tiny tremors in her shoulders where she sat nestled in his embrace. She relaxed into his body, her face pressing against the hollow of his throat. Hot, fat tears dropped from her face to his neck, rolling over his skin until they were absorbed into the collar of his shirt. The ice in her drink rattled where the cup was trapped between them, and Steve had the presence of mind to pluck it from her grasp and move it to the dashboard. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You helped save the world,” he murmured against her hair. The short red curls tickled his chin. “If that doesn’t make you one of the good guys I can’t think of anything that will.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She let out a little hiccup of a laugh. “Is it awful if I simultaneously think New York was fun and also hope we never have to do that again?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think that just means you have sense,” Steve chuckled. He rested his chin on the top of her head, tightening his grip around her torso. “You’re not alone, Natasha. All of us are just trying our best to do what’s right.” She twisted a bit, maneuvering herself so she could get her own arms around his back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re not alone either, you know,” she insisted, snuggling just a bit closer. His heart picked up its pace at her words, and he was sure she could feel the speed of it with the way she was pressed against him. “I can’t even imagine what it’s like to wake up in a whole different world from the one you knew, but you don’t have to figure it all out by yourself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m working on it.” He thought about the fake hospital room where he’d woken up, and all the deception he’d seen in the few short months that he’d been back. “Haven’t been a lot of people who were particularly up front since I got defrosted.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, S.H.I.E.L.D.’s not good at that,” Natasha agreed with a snort. She pulled back just enough to look him in the face. The light reflecting off the giant movie screen played over her face, casting shadows on her skin. Steve’s pulse jumped again. “I’m not either, but I’m willing to try.” She gave another little huff of a laugh. Her eyes darted from his eyes to his lips and back so fast he almost didn’t see it. “If I can’t trust Captain America I think I’m doomed for trusting anybody.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If Bucky could see him now, Steve was sure his best friend would be yelling at him for not making a move. In fact, he could almost hear it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Girls don’t cuddle up to you and talk about how you’re not alone for no reason, punk, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he’d say. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stop wasting time before she thinks you don’t like her back.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Natasha,” he whispered, lifting one hand from her shoulders to cup the back of her head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her hands tightened on his shoulder blades. She pressed close against his chest, her voice growing a little breathy. “You can call me Nat.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nat,” he corrected, testing the taste of the nickname on his tongue. He leaned closer, stopping with a scant few inches between their lips. “I don’t do just one night.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good,” she teased, but he could see the sincerity in her eyes. “If you try to do the rest of your little road trip without me I’m going to feel unwanted.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can’t have that,” he murmured, letting his eyes drift closed as he closed the distance between them. The road ahead was going to seem a lot less empty with her there by his side.</span>
</p>
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